The humid midnight air off the Arabian Sea smelled of salt, rust, and damp concrete.

Ananya sat on the curved stone ledge of Marine Drive, her knees drawn tightly up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs to shield herself from the sweeping coastal wind. The dark green cotton sari—the simple ten-hundred-rupee piece of cloth she had bought three years ago with her own hard-earned internship money—was pulled around her shoulders. She wore no jewelry. No watch. No high heels. Her bare feet pressed against the rough, cold granite of the sea wall.